The Elephant
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: What happens when love becomes obsession? Alfred faces this exact problem. He is in absolute admiration for Ivan-going to any lengths to get the affection he wants from the unresponsive man. It may cost him his sanity, and maybe a few lives, but he will stop at nothing to get it. RusAme, AmeRus, M for violence
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

He was perfect. He was perfect down to his name. His hair fell around his face, swept to one side by a careful yet haphazard hand, the color of woven silk or of silver. His eyes, glowing honey-combs of purple, and his face the perfect ovular shape of soft skin, firm on the cheeks and nose, and lips fine. The young Russian man, his name Ivan—a sharp _I_ and then a drooping _van _–and then his last name: Braginsky: sharp _Brag _then subtle _in _then a hissed _sky_. All too perfect, Alfred thought, stirring his drink and resting his head against the palm of his hand.

In front of him, across the bar, separated by layers of darkness the dimly glowing lights did not touch and stacks of talking flesh, there he sat. Ivan sat there, speaking with a young woman about business matters, his lips parting barely as he spoke and revealing the tips of pearly white teeth. Alfred sighed audibly, his eyelids falling on his clear blue eyes and his dusty blond hair swept messily across his head, so that one curl stood out above all the rest declaring its freedom. He brought his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, leaving a spot of grime in the corner he could have cared less about.

"Sir, would you like another drink?" the bartender asked.

"No, I'm fine with this one." Alfred said; his voice hazy.

The bartender nodded curtly and moved away.

Alfred looked at the woman Ivan spoke to. She was decently pretty, a bit too tall, and she touched her hair too much, but she had a plain face that could not be called ugly. Her nose was sharp and her hair, which was constantly being played with by her manicured nails and lean fingers was the color of charcoal. Alfred at once fired up in sickly jealousy, feeling himself nearly turn green. He watched her movements, the subtle ways she directed the bottoms of her forearms to Ivan or how she craned her neck or parted her legs, bound in jeans, sexless if anything. The jealousy built hungrily, eating at him until it molded into rage.

Ivan didn't appear to take much notice with her movements. She was obviously flirting. She couldn't have cared less about the business they spoke about. Ivan spoke the matters with heavy seriousness that brought Alfred's heart straight into the heavens with bliss. To see the tiny line form between Ivan's eyebrows and the seriousness his features partook caused him to sigh audibly again.

He knew Ivan since they were very young. Even as children playing in the back of schools –friends but not quite best friends—Alfred was consumed by a burning love for the man. Everything Ivan did, from the way his fingers moved to the way his back muscles tensed up brought such lofty bliss to Alfred that he nearly melted with the prospect.

Then there was that woman. She had invited Ivan to come to the bar. Alfred worked in the same company as Ivan and overheard, fabricating and excuse to go there himself.

"I really think that paying the—no, any—foreign company would be perfect for us." Ivan said seriously, picking up his cocktail and taking a sip. He had chosen the cheapest drink.

"Are you sure staying at home wouldn't be better?" She said offhandedly, wrapping a dark curl around her finger and biting her lip, batting her eyes once or twice. "You know, maybe after this we could go to my home, now that we mention it."

"No, but staying at home will cost us money in the long run!" Ivan overrode her and then sighed. He paused, his eyes flicking up briefly to see Alfred. He took no notice and turned back to her. "What did you say about going to your house?"

Once the eyes greeted Alfred by barely poking at him, Alfred's knees turned to water. How beautiful were those eyes! How delicate were those lines and how bottomless those pupils! Oh, if only he would look once more in his direction. Alfred continued to stare. Now, a couple next to him, noticed how lovelorn he looked. They could not tell who he was looking at so the man laughed.

"Thinking about someone special, huh?" He said.

Alfred looked at him. He felt insulted. Someone had spoken about his Ivan. _His _Ivan was _only _his. But the man seemed to mean no harm. Alfred would have liked to drive a hammer through his face. But instead he smiled politely and nodded.

The man laughed and looked at his girlfriend, or wife, and grabbed both of her hands in his. "You know, I remember that feeling. Oh, right, I'm having it right now."

She giggled at once and they were engrossed with each other, staring into one another's eyes and giggling.

Alfred wondered what it would be like to have Ivan touch his hands like that and to have Ivan's lips brush up against him. He felt his body swell with the notion. No, he mustn't think too far ahead.

He returned his attention to Ivan and the woman who, thankfully, were still there. She was blushing, taking a sip of her drink. "You know, I have a nice TV. We can watch movies on it. If you've had too much to drink I can drive you. It would be safer if I did."

Ivan shook his head. "No, I think you've drunk more than I have. Do you need an escort?" He inquired innocently, his eyebrows arching into perfect arcs.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe we could go on to do something more afterwards. Tell me, how long have you been on a date?"

Ivan laughed and shook his head. "I've never been on a date. I always plan them but I end up cancelling them in the end."

Alfred ordered a beer and drank it, setting the tall cup half-filled in front of him. Beads of water sweated down the sides. The foam clung to the sides of the curved cup, cool to the touch.

"Really?" she asked, "I would expect a handsome man like you to just have girls crawling right over you!"

Now, that wouldn't be very good. Alfred lowered his gaze, his lips twitching. If anyone even dared lay their eyes on Ivan, he would have his way with them.

"Ouch, man, don't squeeze so hard."

"Sorry."

Alfred looked down at his beer glass. He released his grip on it.

"Look, if you have something against her wouldn't it just be easier to just get rid of her?" his beer glass said while remaining still and unchanging.

"I know, but I can't do it right now." Alfred whispered. "Plus, if he goes home with her—which better not happen—I can't just walk over and do something to her. He'll see me. And what will he think of me then?"

"Oh! Oh! I have an awesome idea. Come on, listen close. It's crowded here and I don't want you to miss a word. I'm gonna speak real fast here in a second, so pay attention. You don't have much time."

Alfred bowed his head, making to rest his chin on his hands, and keeping the beer glass close to his head.

"So I want you to go over and spill a glass, hey, you can even use me, on her and beg her pardon; once she's all covered in liquid, ask to take her to the bathroom in case."

"I can't go in the ladies' room." Alfred muttered.

"I forgot. Instead you do this. You need a way—oh I know! What does she work in again?"

"She's the secretary."

"Ask to have some very private business with her. Go outside, take care of her, come back and tell Ivan with a real sorry face that she didn't feel well enough to remain and had to be escorted. Tell him she threw up, whatever, and then if Ivan needs it take him home. Boom! You took care of her and you're one step closer now."

"Awesome idea!" Alfred said. And, to thank the glass, he took a swig and set it down, placing his money on the table, and walked over to the two.

Politely, he tapped her shoulder.

"Oh, yes Mr. Jones?" She said, looking up at him, her hair falling down one side of her body.

Ivan paid him no mind.

"I need to talk to you in private for a second. Is that alright?"

"Be right back," she said, standing. Ivan nodded and waved her off.

Alfred led her to the back of the building, and they stood in the cold night for some time. The dumpster next to them smelled foul. The street was washed in orange artificial light that drowned out the stars overhead, making the sky seem blank.

"What do you need, sir?" She asked.

"You were getting awful friendly with Ivan, there." Alfred said, as if it was small talk.

"He's very attractive," she admitted, blushing.

"Oh, I don't disagree. But, to make this easy…" his hand sprung from his side and clutched her neck. He could feel the small muscles, the lengthy one, snapping and bending in his grasp. She raised her head, choking, trying to scream. She could not utter a single sound. Her hands leaped up to his arm, and clawed at his flexed muscles. It was all in vain. He continued to crush her, until the bruises swelled like blooming flowers and blood flowed from her lips with her broken through. He could feel her spine and the soft part of her flesh succumb to his fingers, trained from lifting heavy weight.

He let go of her and she fell like a ragdoll, grabbing her throat and coughing up blood. It splattered on the pavement, mixed with saliva and other liquid. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She gasped for breath.

"You're suffering. I don't have much time tonight so I can't enjoy it. Sorry, miss." He brought his foot down on her forehead and stepped down, hearing a stifled crack and watching blood ooze from her facial orifices.

Taking her limp and dead body in his arms, he raised the dumpster bin and tossed her in, shutting it. He looked around for security cameras, but, luckily, he was just out of sight for them, being exactly behind a dumpster. He looked at the blood stain and then where the video camera could be seen. He grabbed his throat and covered his hand with the other end, making a big show of gagging, as though he had just vomited and not committed a crime. He returned to the bar, feeling accomplished, once out of sight. He knew it was futile and then again he had yet to be caught.

He approached Ivan and touched his shoulder, his fingers burning at the contact.

Ivan turned to him, looking exhausted and worn.

Alfred delivered the tragic news that she had vomited on the curb and needed at once to go home.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. To be honest, I'm tired. I need sleep." He stood and patted Alfred's back.

"Do you need a ride? Will you be fine?"

"Oh, certainly." Ivan gave a short smile and left.

Alfred lingered behind, touching his shoulder and feeling bliss.

* * *

_I do not own Hetalia._

_Also, no fancy chapter titles for this story. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Much like heavy fog shrouds the beauty of the lake, the town Alfred lived in was a remarkable town, had it not been for the poor weather and poor vegetation. The town, Coppermills, was built in the 1920s, once called Bloodcreek since the river that ran down its side had a butcher shop at its base that constantly poured the gore into it, staining it red. Then it could have been called Buttermilk, to make it seem welcoming. But in the end the settlers decided on Coppermills. In the thirties it was nearly overlooked by the Great Depression. Food was scarce, but otherwise life went on as normal. Then WWII struck and laughter ceased. And so on and so forth. It flowed with the world's course like a leaf might on a stream.

Alfred grew up with his little brother in a house just like all the others, with blank windows and a thick roof to protect from heavy snowfalls. It was outside this house that Alfred first saw Ivan. Ivan had just moved in at nine years old, coming from Russia, and was extremely shy. He hardly knew a single word of English. When he finally mastered the basics he opened up a little and a group of friends instantly swarmed around him. Alfred fell instantly in love and watched him from a distance, still too terrified to come too close.

Now, many years later, Alfred lived in an apartment across town. He sat alone in his room, listening complacently to the television, and stared out the window. People flooded through the streets, some businessmen, others elderly ladies chatting away in groups.

Violence was unheard of in this town. Sometimes there were unexplained disappearances or one or two cases of domestic violence every few years. Otherwise people lived in relative ease. Some even kept their doors unlocked when going a short distance away for an hour or so.

Alfred always locked his doors. He stood before his apartment door, room 176, and shoved the key in.

Behind him, a young woman with a circular face, giggled at him. He looked at her, his blood leaping and boiling like a nervous tide.

"Pardon me," she said, covering her lips with the tops of her fingers, "But why do you need to lock both locks? I'm pretty sure no one is going to break in anytime soon."

Alfred laughed shortly, but it sounded more like a cough, "I'm real paranoid."

"I see," she said and went away.

"Are you hesitating?" the lock asked.

"Shut up," Alfred slapped the handle and walked away, dragging his feet, and prepared for another act of extreme violence.


End file.
